


Ladies in Waiting (The Hardest Part)

by lost_spook



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Female Relationships, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being left behind to wait is always the most difficult thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladies in Waiting (The Hardest Part)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



> Shamefully little research went into this, but your request reminded me of this line from one of my history books, that, before leaving for what would be the battle of Stoke, _"Henry bid farewell to 'our dearest wife and... our dearest mother' and headed north from Kenilworth Castle..."_.

It would be easy to resent Lady Margaret. Elizabeth’s mother could have given her a list of reasons (were she permitted to be here, and there was another in itself); things that could be labelled as interference, officiousness: counting herself equal with the Queen – more than equal, perhaps – and watching over her like an unwanted guard dog. 

Elizabeth’s feelings on the matter were more mixed. Every step she took was away from or towards one side or the other of her complicated wider family; almost every act a small betrayal of someone, and she must always be careful that it was not the King she betrayed. Thus, being spared difficult conversations with people she would rather avoid was not something she felt a grievance over; quite the reverse. She recognised, too, that the Lady Margaret was an ally well worth having, in more ways than merely the political. 

Elizabeth also had to confess to herself that sometimes she found it a relief to have someone who did not seem to think (but perhaps for the existence of Arthur) that the death of the usurper might be a release for this daughter of York. Margaret Beaufort did not feel it was in the least wonderful that Elizabeth should love her son. (It was not easy, it probably never would be, but Elizabeth had come quickly to care for not only the King, but the man who was the King; the man who wanted to love her and yet who still sometimes held back in fear.) And with their small son’s future at stake at this very moment, Margaret’s fierce love for her only child was something Elizabeth could well understand.

Thinking of that again, she watched Lady Margaret from under her lashes. The older woman was slight in form, but strong in spirit. Today she was saying little, and brittle and too-cheerful when she did. Small movements revealed her tension, as did the uncharacteristic sharpness with which she spoke to one of Elizabeth’s ladies. Elizabeth would have liked to offer what comfort she could, but to do so would mean saying what could not be said by either of them – admitting to fears that might near treason. Elizabeth had much to lose if Henry failed against the rebels, but how much more would Lady Margaret suffer if that happened?

“How long before they meet with the rebels, do you suppose?” Elizabeth asked, her question carefully neutral.

Margaret looked across at her, as if seeing her properly for the first time since the King had said farewell. “It’s difficult to say. It depends on too many things that we do not know,” she said. Then, with another look, she added, “There is no need for your grace to be afraid.”

“No,” said Elizabeth, and gave her mother-in-law a smile. “I do not believe that there is. My lord seemed” – she hesitated in search of the right words – “confident in his duty.”

Margaret waited, as Elizabeth paused again.

“And I do not think,” said Elizabeth, with more surety, now able to offer the otherwise unwonted sympathy by indirect means, “that God should give him the victory only to cast him down – and not to these men who tell wicked lies so shamelessly.”

Margaret came over presently, and Elizabeth was rewarded then with a tight clasp of her hand, the thin fingers pressing into hers, and then Lady Margaret raised her hand briefly to touch the Queen’s cheek, before dropping it again. 

Elizabeth had spoken only the truth, though: she did believe it. Although, she thought wryly, doubtless her faith would be less certain in the darkest hours of the night when dreams of death and rebellion would plague her; such long hours before there was even the smallest chance of news. She wondered now whether her seemingly indomitable mother-in-law might know the same trouble; she thought she might.

“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth at last, and leading as the Queen she was, if still uncrowned, “perhaps my Lady and I may pray together?”


End file.
